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RIP VAN WINKLE. 



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VEf\RILL. 



BOStOE) 

1^. Q. pa^e ai)d Qo/npapy 

INCORPORATED 





Copyright by 
Samuel E. Cassino, 
1887. 



Copyright by 

Joseph Knight Company. 
1894. 



Mental Press : 

Electrotyped and Printed by C. H. Simonds & Co 
Boston, Mass., U. S. A. 



Transferred from tms 

department of photographs 



LIST OF ILLUSTRATIONS 





PAGE 

Portrait ^ 4 

Illustrated Title-Page 5 

List of Illustrations ........... 7 

Diedrich Knickerbocker ...... . . 9 

Up the Hudson . . . . . . . . . . 11 

“ He was a descendant of the Van Winkles” . . . . . 12 

“He assisted at their sports” . - . . . . facing 12 

“A termagant wife” ... 13 

“Fish all day without a murmur” . . . . . . . -14 

“Used to employ him to run their errands” . . . . . 15 

“He would carry a fowling-piece” . . . . . . . .17 

“His cow among the cabbages” . . . . . . . . 18 

“Trooping like a colt at its mother’s heels” . . . . . .18 

“How solemnly they would listen” ...... facing 18 

“He shrugged his shoulders, shook his head, and cast up his eyes” . 19 

“ Yelping precipitation ” ......... 20 

“ He would share the contents of his wallet ” . . . . facing 20 

Nicholas Vedder ........... 21 

“ The brow of a precipice ” 23 

“ He heard a voice 26 

“A strange figure” 27 

“ Rip and his companion labored on in silence ” . . . . . 29 



8 



LIST OF ILLUSTRATIONS. 



PAGE 

“ A company of odd-looking personages ” . . . . facing 26 

“One who seemed to be the commander” 30 

“They quaffed the liquor in profound silence” . , . facing 30 

“I have not slept here all night” . ... . . . . 31 

“Wanting in his usual activity” .... ... 32 

“He called again and whistled after his dog” .... facing 32 

“ Stroked their chins ” 33 

“ A troop of strange children ran at his heels ” . . . . facing 34 

“ He found the house gone to decay ” 35 

“He recognized on the sign” . 37 

“ They crowded round him ”....... facing 38 

“ A lean, bilious-looking fellow ” . . . . . . . 39 

“He was killed at the storming of Stony Point” . . . . . 41 

“A great militia-general” . . . , 42 

“That is Rip Van Winkle, yonder” ...... 0 43 

“A fresh, comely woman” ......... 44 

“What is your name, my good woman?” .... facing 44 

Peter Vanderdonk ..... .... 45 

“ Friends among the rising generation ” . . . . . . .46 

“ Once more on the bench at the inn door ” . . . . facing 46 

“He used to tell his story to every stranger” . . . . .48 



RIP VAN WINKLE. 



A POSTHUMOUS WRITING OF DIEDRICH KNICKERBOCKER. 



By Woden, God of Saxons, 

From whence comes Wensday, that is Wodensday. 

Truth is a thing that ever I will keep 

Unto thylke day in which I creep into 

My sepulchre Cartwright. 

[The following Tale was found among the papers of the late Diedrich 
Knickerbocker, an old gentleman of New York, who was very curious in the 




Dutch history of the province, and the manners of the descendants from its. 
primitive settlers. His historical researches, however, did not lie so much 




IO 



RIP VAN WINKLE . 



among books as among men ; for the former are lamentably scanty on his 
favorite topics ; whereas he found the old burghers, and still more their wives, 
rich in that legendary lore so invaluable to true history. Whenever, therefore, 
he happened upon a genuine Dutch family, snugly shut up in its low-roofed 
farmhouse, under a spreading sycamore, he looked upon it as a little clasped 
volume of black-letter, and studied it with the zeal of a book-worm. 

The result of all these researches was a history of the province during the 
reign of the Dutch governors, which he published some years since. There have 
been various opinions as to the literary character of his work, and, to tell the 
truth, it is not a whit better than it should be. Its chief merit is its scrupulous 
accuracy, which indeed was a little questioned on its first appearance, but has 
since been completely established ; and it is now admitted into all historical 
collections as a book of unquestionable authority. 

The old gentleman died shortly after the publication of his work ; and now 
that he is dead and gone, it cannot do much harm to his memory to say that his 
time might have been much better employed in weightier labors. He, however, 
was apt to ride his hobby his own way ; and though it did now and then kick up 
the dust a little in the eyes of his neighbors, and grieve the spirit of some friends, 
for whom he felt the truest deference and affection, yet his errors and follies are 
remembered “ more in sorrow than in anger,” and it begins to be suspected that 
he never intended to injure or offend. But however his memory may be appre- 
ciated by critics, it is still held dear by many folk whose good opinion is well 
worth having ; particularly by certain biscuit-bakers, who have gone so far as to 
imprint his likeness on their New- Year cakes ; and have thus given him a chance 
for immortality, almost equal to the being stamped on a Waterloo Medal, or a 
Queen Anne’s Farthing.! 




"©NE or THE HIGHEST P^RTS OF THE K^AT SKILL MOUNTAINS 



RIP VAN WINKLE . 



1 1 




W HOEVER has made a voyage up the Hudson must 
remember the Kaatskill mountains. They are a 
dismembered branch of the great Appalachian fam- 
ily, and are seen away to the west of the river, swelling 
up to a noble height, and lording it over the surrounding 
country. Every change of season, every change of weather, 
indeed, every hour of the day, produces some change in the 
magical hues and shapes of these mountains, and they are 
regarded by all the good wives, far and near, as perfect 
barometers. When the weather is fair and settled, they are 
clothed in blue and purple, and print their bold outlines on 
the clear evening sky ; but sometimes, when the rest of the 
landscape is cloudless, they will gather a hood of gray vapors 
about their summits, which, in the last rays of the setting 
sun, will glow and light up like a crown of glory. 



12 



RIP VAN WINKLE . 



At the foot of these fairy mountains, the voyager may 
have descried the light smoke curling up from a village, 
whose shingle roofs gleam among the trees, just where the 
blue tints of the upland melt away into the fresh green of 
the nearer landscape. It is a little village of great antiquity, 

having been founded by some 
of the Dutch colonists in the 
early times of the province, just 
about the beo;inninQr of the eov- 
ernment of the good Peter Stuy- 
vesant (may he rest in peace !) 
and there were some of the 
houses of the original settlers 
standing within a few years, 
built of small yellow bricks 
brought from Holland, having 
latticed windows and gable 
fronts, surmounted with weath- 
ercocks. 

In that same village, and in 
one of these very houses (which, 
to tell the precise truth, was 
sadly time-worn and weather- 
beaten), there lived many years 
since, while the country was yet 
a province of Great Britain, a simple, good-natured fellow, of 
the name of Rip Van Winkle. He was a descendant of the 
Van Winkles who figured so gallantly in the chivalrous days 
of Peter Stuyvesant, and accompanied him to the siege of 
Fort Christina. He inherited, however, but little of the martial 





"®he light smoke curling up from ^village 




Rips fishing ground! 



RIP VAN WINKLE. 



*3 



character of his ancestors. I have observed that he was a 
simple, good-natured man ; he was, moreover, a kind neighbor, 
and an obedient, hen-pecked husband. Indeed, to the latter 
circumstance might be owing that meekness of spirit which 
gained him such universal popu- 
larity ; for those men are most apt 
to be obsequious and conciliating 
abroad who are under the disci- 
pline of shrews at home. Their tem- 
pers, doubtless, are rendered pliant 
and malleable in the fiery furnace 
of domestic tribulation, and a cur- 
tain-lecture is worth all the ser- 
mons in the world for teaching the 
virtues of patience and long-suffer- 
ing. A termagant wife may, there- 
fore, in some respects, be consid- 
ered a tolerable blessing ; and if 
so, Rip Van Winkle was thrice 
blessed. 

Certain it is, that he was a great 
favorite among all the good wives 
of the village, who, as usual with 
the amiable sex, took his part in 
all family squabbles, and never 
failed, whenever they talked those matters over in their evening 
gossipings, to lay all the blame on Dame Van Winkle. The 
children of the village, too, would shout with joy whenever 
he approached. He assisted at their sports, made their play- 
things, taught them to fly kites and shoot marbles, and told 




14 



RIP VAN WINKLE . 




them long stories of ghosts, witches, and Indians. Whenever 
he went dodging about the village, he was surrounded by a 
troop of them, hanging on his skirts, clambering on his back, 
and playing a thousand tricks on him with impunity; and not 

a dog would bark at him through- 
out the neighborhood. 

The great error in Rip’s 
composition was an insuper- 
able aversion to all kinds of 
profitable labor. It could 
not be from the want of 
assiduity or perseverance ; 
for he would sit on a wet 
rock, with a rod as long 
and heavy as a Tartar’s 
lance, and fish all day 
without a murmur, even 
though he should not be 
encouraged by a single nibble. 
He would carry a fowling-piece on 
his shoulder for hours together, trudging 
through woods and swamps, and up hill 
and down dale, to shoot a few squirrels or 
wild pigeons. He would never refuse to 
assist a neighbor even in the roughest 
toil, and was a foremost man at all country frolics for husking 
Indian corn, or building stone fences; the women of the vil- 
lage, too, used to employ him to run their errands, and to do 
such little odd jobs as their less obliging husbands would not 
do for them. In a word, Rip was ready to attend to anybody’s 




'IfeUDGING THRO'WDDDS t\ND SWAMPS' 




RIP VAN WINKLE. 



17 




business but his own ; but as to doing family duty, 
and keeping his farm in order, he found it impossible. 

In fact, he declared it was of no use to work on 
his farm ; it was the most pestilent little piece of 
ground in the whole country; everything about it went 
wrong, and would go wrong in spite of him. His fences 
were continually falling to ^ / 

pieces ; his cow would either 
go astray, or get among the 
cabbages ; weeds were sure 
to grow quicker in his fields 
than anywhere else ; the rain 
always made a point of set- 
ting in just as he had some 
out-door work to do ; so that 
though his patrimonial estate 
had dwindled away under his 
management, acre by acre, un- 
til there was little more left 
than a mere patch of Indian 
corn and potatoes, yet it was 
the worst conditioned farm in 
the neighborhood. 

His children, too, were as 
ragged and wild as if they 
belonged to nobody. His son 
Rip, an urchin begotten in 



his own likeness, promised to inherit the habits, with the old 
clothes of his father. He was generally seen trooping like a 
colt at his mother’s heels, equipped in a pair of his father’s 



i8 



RIP VAN WINKLE . 







cast-off galligaskins, which he had 
much ado to hold up with one 
hand, as a fine lady does her 
train in bad weather. 

Rip Van Winkle, however, was 
one of those happy mortals, of 
foolish, well-oiled dispositions, who 
take the world easy, eat white 
bread or brown, whichever can be 
got with least thought or trouble, 
and would rather starve on a 
penny than work for a pound. 
If left to himself, he would have 
whistled life away, in perfect con- 
tentment ; but his wife kept continually dinning in his ears 
about his idleness, his carelessness, and the ruin 
he was bringing on his family. 

Morning, noon, and night, her tongue was in- 
cessantly going, and ev- 
erything he said or did 
was sure to produce a 
torrent of household elo- 
quence. Rip had but one 
way of replying to all lec- 
tures of the kind, and 
that, by frequent use, had 
grown into a habit. He 
shrugged his shoulders, 
shook his head, cast up his eyes, but said nothing. This, 
however, always provoked a fresh volley from his wife, so that 





Up hill, and down dale- 



RIP VAN WINKLE. 



*9 



he was fain to draw off his forces, and take to the outside 
of the house — the only side which, in truth, belongs to a hen- 
pecked husband. 

Rip’s sole domestic adherent was his dog Wolf, who was 
as much henpecked as his master; for Dame Van Winkle 
regarded them as companions in idleness, and even looked 
upon Wolf with an evil eye, as the cause 
of his master’s going so often astray. True 
it is, in all points of spirit befitting an hon- 
orable dog, he was as courageous an animal 
as ever scoured the woods — but what cour- 
age can withstand the ever-during and all- 
besetting terrors of a woman’s tongue ? The 
moment Wolf entered the house, his crest 
fell, his tail drooped to the ground, or curled 
between his legs, he sneaked about with a 
gallows air, casting many a sidelong glance 
at Dame Van Winkle, and at the least 
flourish of a broomstick or ladle, he would 
fly to the door with yelping precipitation. 

Times grew worse and worse with Rip 
Van Winkle as years of matrimony rolled on : 
a tart temper never mellows with age, and a 
sharp tongue is the only edge tool that grows 
keener with constant use. For a loner while he used to con- 

O 

sole himself, when driven from home, by frequenting a kind 
of perpetual club of the sages, philosophers, and other idle 
personages of the village, which held its sessions on a bench 
before a small inn, designated by a rubicund portrait of his 
majesty George the .Third. Here they used to sit in the 




20 



RIP VAN WINKLE. 



shade of a long lazy summer’s day, talking listlessly over vil- 
lage gossip, or telling endless sleepy stories about nothing. 
But it would have been worth any statesman’s money to have 
heard the profound discussions which sometimes took place, 
when by chance an old newspaper fell into their hands, from 
some passing traveller. How solemnly they would listen to 
the contents, as drawled out by Derrick Van Bummel, the 
schoolmaster, a dapper learned little man, who was not to be 
daunted by the most gigantic word in the dictionary ; and how 
sagely they would deliberate upon public events some months 
after they had taken place. 

The opinions of this junto were completely controlled 
by Nicholas Vedder, a 

lord of the inn, at the door of which he took 
his seat from morning till night, just moving 
sufficiently to avoid the sun, and keep in 
the shade of a large tree ; so that the 
neighbors could tell the hour 
by his movements, as accu- 
rately as by a sun-dial. It is 
true, he was rarely heard to 
speak, but smoked his pipe 
incessantly. His ad- 
herents, however (for 
every great man has 
his adherents), perfect- 
ly understood him, and 
knew how to gather 
his opinions. When 
anything that was read 











•|||e Would stroll ^way jnto jhe Wooes. 






Akndll, covered with MOUNTAIN HEHBACe: 



RIP VAN WINKLE . 



2 I 

or related displeased him, he was observed to smoke his pipe 
vehemently, and to send forth short, frequent, and angry puffs ; 
but when pleased, he would inhale the smoke slowly and tran- 
quilly, and emit it in light and placid clouds, and sometimes 
taking the pipe from his mouth, and letting the fragrant 
vapor curl about his nose, would gravely nod his head in 
token of perfect approbation. 

From even this strong- 
hold the unlucky Rip was 
at length routed by his ter- 
magant wife, who would 
suddenly break in upon the 
tranquillity of the assem- 
blage, and call the members 
all to nought; nor was that 
august personage, Nicholas 
Vedder himself, sacred from 
the daring tongue of this 
terrible virago, who charged 
him outright with encourag- 
ing her husband in habits of idleness. 

Poor Rip was at last reduced almost to despair, and his 
only alternative to escape from the labor of the farm and the 
clamor of his wife, was to take gun in hand, and stroll away 
into the woods. Here he would sometimes seat himself at 
the foot of a tree, and share the contents of his wallet with 
Wolf, with whom he sympathized as a fellow-sufferer in perse- 
cution. “Poor Wolf,” he would say, “ thy mistress leads thee 
a dog’s life of it ; but never mind, my lad, whilst I live thou 
shalt never want a friend to stand by thee!” Wolf would 




22 



RIP VAN WINKLE. 



wag his tail, look wistfully in his master’s face, and if dogs 
can feel pity, I verily believe he reciprocated the sentiment 
with all his heart. 

In a long ramble of the kind, on a fine autumnal day, Rip 
had unconsciously scrambled to one of the highest parts of 
the Kaatskill mountains. He was after his favorite sport of 
squirrel-shooting, and the still solitudes had echoed and re- 
echoed with the reports of his gun. Panting and fatigued, he 
threw himself, late in the afternoon, on a green knoll covered 
with mountain herbage, that crowned the brow of a precipice. 
From an opening between the trees, he could overlook all the 
lower country for many a mile of rich woodland. He saw at 
a distance the lordly Hudson, far, far below him, moving on 
its silent but majestic course, with the reflection of a purple 
cloud, or the sail of a lagging bark, here and there sleeping 
on its glassy bosom, and at last losing itself in the blue 
highlands. 

On the other side he looked down into a deep mountain 
glen, wild, lonely, and shagged, the bottom filled with frag- 
ments from the impending cliffs, and scarcely lighted by the 
reflected rays of the setting sun. For some time Rip lay 
musing on this scene ; evening was gradually advancing ; the 
mountains began to throw their long blue shadows over the 
valleys ; he saw that it would be dark long before he could 
reach the village ; and he heaved a heavy sigh when he thought 
of encountering the terrors of Dame Van Winkle. 

As he was about to descend he heard a voice from a dis- 
tance hallooing, “ Rip Van Winkle! Rip Van Winkle!” He 
looked around, but could see nothing but a crow winging its 
solitary flight across the mountain. He thought his fancy 




Frdm^n opening between the trees! 




J^illed With fragments ' from the impending cliffs:' 





■feis LONELY AND UNFREQUENTED PLACE 




®NE DRY BED OF F[OUNTAIN J DR RENT. 



RIP VAN WINKLE. 



25 



must have deceived him, and turned again to descend, when he 
heard the same cry ring through the still evening air, “ Rip 
Van Winkle! Rip Van Winkle!” — at the same time Wolf 
bristled up his back, and giving a low growl, skulked to his 
master’s side, looking fearfully down into the glen. Rip now 
felt a vague apprehension stealing over him ; he looked anx- 
iously in the same direction, and perceived a strange figure 
slowly toiling up the rocks, and bending under the weight of 
something he carried on his back. He was surprised to see 
any human being in this lonely and unfrequented place, but 
supposing it to be some one of the neighborhood in need of 
his assistance, he hastened down to yield it. 

On nearer approach, he was still more surprised at the 
singularity of the stranger’s appearance. He was a short, 
square-built old fellow, with thick bushy hair, and a grizzled 
beard. His dress was of the antique Dutch fashion — a cloth 
jerkin strapped round the waist — several pair of breeches, the 
outer one of ample volume, decorated with rows of buttons 
down the sides, and bunches at the knees. He bore on his 
shoulders a stout keg, that seemed full of liquor, and made 
signs for Rip to approach and assist him with the load. Though 
rather shy and distrustful of this new acquaintance, Rip com- 
plied with his usual alacrity, and mutually relieving each other, 
they clambered up a narrow gully, apparently the dry bed of 
a mountain torrent. As they ascended, Rip every now and 
then heard long rolling peals, like distant thunder, that seemed 
to issue out of a deep ravine, or rather cleft between lofty 
rocks, toward which their rugged path conducted. He paused 
for an instant, but supposing it to be the muttering of one of 
those transient thunder-showers which often take place in the 



26 



RIP VAN WINKLE . 



mountain heights, he proceeded. Passing through the ravine, 
they came to a hollow, like a small amphitheatre, surrounded 
by perpendicular precipices, over the brinks of which, im- 
pending trees shot their branches, so that you only caught 
glimpses of the azure sky and the bright evening cloud. 
During the whole time, Rip and his companion had labored 
on in silence ; for though the former marvelled greatly what 

to could be the object of carry- 

( ^ ing a keg of liquor up this 

’ wild mountain, yet there was 




j v< % 

1 v --F 


something strange and in- 


rJw 

-.Jr' M. 


comprehensible about the un- 


Sij y '' 


known, that inspired awe, and 


If 


checked familiarity. 




On entering the amphi- 




theatre, new objects of wonder 


w% £ 


presented themselves. On a 



level spot in the centre was 
a company of odd-looking per- 
sonages playing at nine-pins. 
They were dressed in a quaint 
outlandish fashion : some wore 
short doublets, others jerkins, 
with long knives in their belts, and most of them had enor- 
mous breeches, of similar style with that of the guide’s. 
Their visages too, were peculiar : one had a large head, broad 
face, and small piggish eyes ; the face of another seemed to 
consist entirely of nose, and was surmounted by a white sugar- 
loaf hat, set off with a little red cock's tail. They all had 
beards, of various shapes and colors. There was one who 




He lddkedddwn into a deep mountain glen 




"■'St WAS A BRIGHT SUNNY MORNING, 

, //v!%RT 





RIP VAN WINKLE . 



29 



seemed to be the commander. He was a stout old gentle- 
man, with a weather-beaten countenance ; he wore a laced 
doublet, broad belt and hanger, high-crowned hat and feather, 
red stockings, and high-heeled shoes, with roses in them. 
The whole group reminded Rip of the figures in an old 
Flemish painting, in the parlor of Domine Van Schaick, the 

village parson, and which ^ 

had been brought over from \ 



Holland at the time of the 
settlement. 

What seemed particu- 
larly odd to Rip was, that 
though these folks were 
evidently amusing them- 
selves, yet they maintained 
the gravest faces, the most 
mysterious silence, and 
were, withal, the most mel- 
ancholy party of pleasure 
he had ever witnessed. 

Nothing interrupted the stillness 
of the scene but the noise of the 
balls, which, whenever they were 
rolled, echoed along the mountains 
like rumbling peals of thunder. 

As Rip and his companion approached them, they suddenly 
desisted from their play, and stared at him with such a fixed 
statue-like gaze, and such strange, uncouth, lack-lustre counte- 
nances, that his heart turned within him, and his knees smote 
together. His companion now emptied the contents of the 




3 o RIP VAN WINKLE. 

keg into large flagons, and made signs to him to wait upon 
the company. He obeyed with fear and trembling; they 
quaffed the liquor in profound silence, and then returned to 
their game. 

By degrees, Rip’s awe and apprehension subsided. He 
even ventured, when no eye was fixed upon him, to taste the 
beverage, which he found had much of the flavor of excellent 




Hollands. He was naturally a thirsty soul, and was soon 
tempted to repeat the draught. One taste provoked another, 
and he reiterated his visits to the flagon so often, that at length 
his senses were overpowered, his eyes swam in his head, his 
head gradually declined, and he fell into a deep sleep. 

On waking, he found himself on the green knoll from 
whence he had first seen the old man of the glen. He rubbed 




E FDUND THE GULLV-A MOUNTAIN STREAM WA^S N GW FORMING DOWN IT, 




Hem^de shift to scramble up its SIDES,WDRKSHISTDIL5DME 
WAYTHRO' THICKETS DFBIRCH, S^SS^FR^SAND WITEH HAZEL" 



RIP VAN WINKLE. 



3i 



his eyes — it was a bright sunny morning. The birds were 
hopping and twittering among the bushes, and the eagle 
was wheeling aloft, and breasting the pure mountain breeze. 
“Surely,” thought Rip, “ I have not slept here all night.” He 
recalled the occurrences before he fell asleep. The strange 
man with the keg of liquor — the mountain ravine — the wild 
retreat among the rocks — the woe-begone party at nine-pins — 
the flagon — “Oh! that wicked flagon !” thought Rip — “what 
excuse shall I make to Dame Van Winkle?” 




He looked round for his gun, but in place of the clean well- 
oiled fowling-piece, he found an old firelock lying by him, the 
barrel encrusted with rust, the lock falling off, and the stock 
worm-eaten. He now suspected that the grave roysters of the 
mountain had put a trick upon him, and having dosed him 
with liquor, had robbed him of his gun. Wolf, too, had dis- 
appeared, but he might have strayed away after a squirrel or 
partridge. He whistled after him and shouted his name, but 



RIP VAN WINKLE. 



all in vain ; the echoes repeated his whistle and shout, but 
no do£ was to be seen. 

He determined to revisit the scene of the last evenino-’s 

O 

gambol, and if he met with any of the party, to demand his 
dog and gun. As he rose to walk, he found himself stiff in 
the joints, and wanting in his usual activity. “ These moun- 
tain beds do not agree with me,” thought Rip, “ and if this 

frolic should lay me up with a fit 
of the rheumatism, I shall have 
a blessed time with Dame Van 
Winkle.” With some difficulty 
he got down into the glen ; he 
found the gully up which he and 
his companion had ascended the 
preceding evening ; but to his 
astonishment a mountain stream 
was now foaming down it, leaping 
from rock to rock, and filling the 
glen with babbling murmurs. He, 
however, made shift to scramble 
up its sides, working his toilsome 
way through thickets of birch, 
sassafras, and witch-hazel ; and sometimes tripped up or en- 
tangled by the wild grape vines that twisted their coils and 
tendrils from tree to tree, and spread a kind of network in 
his path. 

At length he reached to where the ravine had opened 
through the cliffs to the amphitheatre ; but no traces of such 
opening remained. The rocks presented a high impenetrable 
wall, over which the torrent came tumbling in a sheet of feath- 





^HE' 'HOCKS PRESENTED ^ HIGH IMPENETRABLE WALL 




J^ELL I N T 0 ABROAD DEEP BASIN, BLACKFRQM THE SHADOW 
OF THE SURROUNDING FOREST." 




RIP VAN WINKLE. 



33 



ery foam, and fell into a broad deep basin, black from the 
shadows of the surrounding forest. Here, then, poor Rip was 
brought to a stand. He again called and whistled after his 
dog; he was only answered by the cawing of a flock of idle 
crows, sporting high in the air about a dry tree that overhung 
a sunny precipice ; and who, secure in their elevation, seemed 
to look down and scoff at the poor man’§ perplexities. What 
was to be done ? The morning was passing away, and Rip felt 




famished for want of his breakfast. He grieved to give up his 
dog and gun ; he dreaded to meet his wife ; but it would not 
do to starve among the mountains. He shook his head, shoul- 
dered the rusty firelock, and, with a heart full of trouble and 
anxiety, turned his steps homeward. 

As he approached the village, he met a number of people, 
but none whom he knew, which somewhat surprised him, for 
he had thought himself acquainted with every one in the 
country round. Their dress, too, was of a different fashion 
from that to which he was accustomed. They all stared at 
him with equal marks of surprise, and whenever they cast eyes 
upon him, invariably stroked their chins. The constant recur- 



34 



RIP VAN WINKLE. 



rence of this gesture induced Rip, involuntarily, to do the 
same, when, to his astonishment, he found his beard had 
grown a foot long ! 

He had now entered the skirts of the village. A troop of 
strange children ran at his heels, hooting after him, and point- 
ing at his gray beard. The dogs, too, not one of which he 
recognized for an old acquaintance, barked at him as he passed. 
The very village was altered : it was larger ajid more populous. 
There were rows of houses which he had never seen before, 
and those which had been his familiar haunts had disappeared. 
Strange names were over the doors — strange faces at the win- 
dows — everything was strange. His mind now misgave him; 
he began to doubt whether both he and the world around 
him were not bewitched. Surely this was his native village, 
which he had left but a day before. There stood the Kaats- 
kill mountains — there ran the silver Hudson at a distance 
— there was every hill and dale precisely as it had always 
been — -Rip was sorely perplexed — “That flagon last night,” 
thought he, “has addled my poor head sadly!” 

It was with some difficulty that he found the way to his 
own house, which he approached with silent awe, expecting 
every moment to hear the shrill voice of Dame Van Winkle. 
He found the house gone to decay — the roof fallen in, the 
windows shattered, and the doors off the hinges. A half- 
starved dog, that looked like Wolf, was skulking about it. 
Rip called him by name, but the cur snarled, showed his teeth, 
and passed on. This was an unkind cut indeed. — “ My very 
dog,” sighed poor Rip, “ has forgotten me ! ” 

He entered the house, which, to tell the truth, Dame Van 
Winkle had always kept in neat order. It was empty, forlorn, 




"Burned pis steps romeward 




S HE AFPE CHED THE VILLAGE 



RIP VAN WINKLE. 



37 



and apparently abandoned. This desolateness overcame all his 
connubial fears — he called loudly for his wife and children — 
the lonely chambers rang for a moment with his voice, and 
then all again was silence. 

He now hurried forth, and hastened to his old resort, the 
village inn — but it too was gone. A large rickety wooden 




building stood in its place, with great gaping windows, some 
of them broken, and mended with old hats and petticoats, and 
over the door was painted, “The Union Hotel, by Jonathan 
Doolittle.” Instead of the great tree that used to shelter the 
quiet little Dutch inn of yore, there now was reared a tall 
naked pole, with something on the top that looked like a red 




38 



RIP VAN WINKLE. 



night-cap, and from it was fluttering a flag, on which was a 
singular assemblage of stars and stripes — all this was strange 
and incomprehensible. He recognized on the sign, however, 
the ruby face of King George, under which he had smoked 
so many a peaceful pipe, but even this was singularly meta- 
morphosed. The red coat was changed for one of blue and 
buff, a sword was held in the hand instead of a sceptre, the 
head was decorated with a cocked hat, and underneath was 
painted in large characters, General Washington. 

There was, as usual, a crowd of folk about the door, but 
none that Rip recollected. The very character of the people 
seemed changed. There was a busy, bustling, disputatious 
tone about it, intead of the accustomed phlegm and drowsy 
tranquillity. He looked in vain for the sage Nicholas Vedder, 
with his broad face, double chin, and fair long pipe, uttering 
clouds of tobacco smoke, instead of idle speeches; or Van 
Bummel, the schoolmaster, doling forth the contents of an 
ancient newspaper. In place of these, a lean bilious-looking 
fellow, with his pockets full of handbills, was haranguing 
vehemently about rights of citizens — election — members of 
Congress — liberty — Bunker’s hill — heroes of seventy-six — 
and other words, that were a perfect Babylonish jargon to the 
bewildered Van Winkle. 

The appearance of Rip, with his long, grizzled beard, his 
rusty fowling-piece, his uncouth dress, and the army of women 
and children that had gathered at his heels, soon attracted the 
attention of the tavern politicians. They crowded round him, 
eyeing him from head to foot, with great curiosity. The 
orator bustled up to him, and drawing him partly aside, in- 
quired, “ on which side he voted ? ” Rip stared in vacant 




l^E N^D NDW ENTERED TNE SKIRTS QP TNE VILLAGE.' 




The skirts of the village',' 




RIP VAN WINKLE . 



41 



stupidity. Another short but busy little fellow pulled him by 
the arm, and rising on tiptoe, inquired in his ear, “whether 
he was Federal or Democrat.” Rip was equally at a loss to 
comprehend the question ; when a knowing, self-important old 
gentleman, in a sharp cocked hat, made his way through the 
crowd, putting them to the right and left with his elbows 
as he passed, and planting himself 
before Van Winkle, wi 
a-kimbo, the other rest- 
ing on his cane, his 
keen eyes and sharp 
hat penetrating, as it 
were, into his very soul, 
demanded in an austere 
tone, “what brought him 
to the election with a 
gun on his shoulder, 
and a mob at his heels, 
and whether he meant 
to breed a riot in the village ? ” 

“Alas! gentlemen,” cried Rip, somewhat dismayed, “I am 
a poor, quiet man, a native of the place, and a loyal subject 
of the King, God bless him ! ” 

Here a general shout burst from the bystanders — “a tory ! 
a tory ! a spy ! a refugee ! hustle him ! away with him ! ” 

It was with great difficulty that the self-important man in 
the cocked hat restored order; and having assumed a tenfold 
austerity of brow, demanded again of the unknown culprit, 
what he came there for, and whom he was seeking. The 
poor man humbly assured him that he meant no harm, but 




42 



RIP VAN iVINKLE . 



merely came there in search of some of his neighbors, who 
used to keep about the tavern. 

“Well— who are they? — name them.” 

Rip bethought himself a moment, and inquired, “ Where’s 
Nicholas Vedder?” 

There was a silence for a little while, when an old man 
replied, in a thin, piping voice, “Nicholas Vedder? why, he 

is dead and gone these 
eighteen years ! There 
was a wooden tomb-stone 
in the church-yard that 
used to tell all about him, 
but that’s rotten and gone 
too.” 

“ Where’s Brom Dutch- 
er ? ” 

“ Oh, he went off to the 
army in the beginning of 
the war; some say he was 
killed at the storming of 
Stony-Point — others say 
he was drowned in the 
squall, at the foot of Antony’s Nose. I don’t know — he 
never came back again.” 

“Where’s Van Bummel, the schoolmaster?” 

“ He went off to the wars, too ; was a great militia general, 
and is now in Congress.” 

Rip’s heart died away, at hearing of these sad changes in 
his home and friends, and finding himself thus alone in the 
world. Every answer puzzled him, too, by treating of such 





•Where Was every '^ill i\ND dale t\s jt pAD airways been 





K 



RIP VAN WINKLE. 



43 



enormous lapses of time, and of matters which he could not 
understand: war — Congress — Stony-Point! — he had no cour- 
age to ask after any more friends, but cried out in despair, 
“ Does nobody here know Rip Van Winkle?” 

“Oh, Rip Van Winkle!” exclaimed two or three. “Oh, 
to be sure ! that’s Rip Van Winkle 
yonder, leaning against the tree.” 

Rip looked, and beheld a pre- 
cise counterpart of himself as he 
went up the mountain ; apparently 
as lazy, and certainly as ragged. 

The poor fellow was now com- 
pletely confounded. He doubted 
his own identity, and whether he 
was himself or another man. In 
the midst of his bewilderment, the 
man in the cocked hat demanded 
who he was, and what was his 
name ? 

“ God knows,” exclaimed he at 
his wit’s end; “I’m not myself — 

I’m somebody else — that’s me yon- 
der — no — that’s somebody else, 
got into my shoes — I was myself 
last night, but I fell asleep on the 
mountain, and they’ve changed my gun, and everything’s 
changed, and I’m changed, and I can’t tell what’s my name, 
or who I am ! ” 

The by-standers began now to look at each other, nod, 
wink significantly, and tap their fingers against their fore- 




44 



RIP VAN WINKLE. 



heads. There was a whisper, also, about securing the gun, 
and keeping the old fellow from doing mischief ; at the very 
suggestion of which, the self-important man with the cocked 
hat retired with some precipitation. At this critical moment 
a fresh comely woman passed through the throng to get a 

peep at the gray-bearded man. 
She had a chubby child in her 
arms, which, frightened at his 
looks, began to cry. “ Hush, 
Rip,” cried she, “hush, you little 
fool ; the old man won’t hurt 
you.” The name of the child, 
the air of the mother, the tone 
of her voice, all awakened a 
train of recollections in his 
mind. 

“ What is your name, my 
good woman ? ” asked he. 
“Judith Gardenier.” 

“ And your father's name ? ” 
“ Ah, poor man, his name 
was Rip Van Winkle ; it’s twenty 
years since he went away from 
home with his gun, and never has been heard of since — his 
dog came home without him ; but whether he shot himself, 
or was carried away by the Indians, nobody can tell. I was 
then but a little girl.” 

Rip had but one question more to ask ; but he put it 
with a faltering voice : 

“ Where’s your mother ? ” 




RIP VAN WINKLE , 



45 



Oh, she too had died but a short time since : she broke a 
blood-vessel in a fit of passion at a New-England pedler. 

There was a drop of comfort, at least, in this intelligence. 
The honest man could contain himself no longer. He caught 
his daughter and her child in his arms. “ I am your father ! ” 
cried he — “Young Rip Van Winkle once — old Rip Van 
Winkle now — Does nobody know poor Rip Van Winkle!” 

All stood amazed, until an old 
woman, tottering out from among 
the crowd, put her hand to her 
brow, and peering under it in his 
face for a moment, exclaimed, 

“Sure enough! it is Rip Van 
Winkle — it is himself. Welcome 
home again, old neighbor— Why, 
where have you been these twenty 
long years ? ” 

Rip’s story was soon told, for 
the whole twenty years had been 
to him but as one night. The 
neighbors stared when they heard 
it ; some were seen to wink at each 
other, and put their tongues in their cheeks ; and the self- 
important man in the cocked hat, who, when the alarm was 
over, had returned to the field, screwed down the corners of 
his mouth, and shook his head — upon which there was a gen- 
eral shaking of the head throughout the assemblage. 

It was determined, however, to take the opinion of old 
Peter Vanderdonk, who was seen slowly advancing up the 
road. He was a descendant of the historian of that name, who 




4 6 



RIP VAN WINKLE. 



wrote one of the earliest accounts of the province. Peter was 
the most ancient inhabitant of the village, and well versed in 
all the wonderful events and traditions of the neighborhood. 
He recollected Rip at once, and corroborated his story in the 
most satisfactory manner. He assured the company that it 
was a fact, handed down from his ancestor the historian, that 
the Kaatskill mountains had always been haunted by strange 




beings. That it was affirmed that the great Hendrick Hud- 
son, the first discoverer of the river and country, kept a kind 
of vigil there every twenty years, with his crew of the Half- 
moon, being permitted in this way to revisit the scenes of his 
enterprise, and keep a guardian eye upon the river and the 
great city called by his name. That his father had once seen 
them in their old Dutch dresses playing at nine-pins in the 



RIP VAN WINKLE. 



47 



hollow of the mountain ; and that he himself had heard, one 
summer afternoon, the sound of their balls, like distant peals 
of thunder. 

To make a long story short, the company broke up, and 
returned to the more important concerns of the election. 
Rip’s daughter took him home to live with her; she had a 
snug, well-furnished house, and a stout cheery farmer for a 
husband, whom Rip recollected for one of the urchins that 
used to climb upon his back. As to Rip’s son and heir, who 
was the ditto of himself, seen leaning against the tree, he was 
employed to work on the farm ; but evinced a hereditary dis- 
position to attend to anything else but his business. 

Rip now resumed his old walks and habits ; he soon found 
many of his former cronies, though all rather the worse for 
the wear and tear of time ; and preferred making friends 
among the rising generation, with whom he soon grew into 
great favor. 

Having nothing to do at home, and being arrived at that 
happy age when a man can do nothing with impunity, he 
took his place once more on the bench, at the inn door, and 
was reverenced as one of the patriarchs of the village, and a 
chronicle of the old times “ before the war.” It was some 
time before he could get into the regular track of gossip, or 
could be made to comprehend the strange events that had 
taken place during his torpor. How that there had been 
a revolutionary war — that the country had thrown off the 
yoke of old England — and that, instead of being a subject of 
his majesty George the Third, he was now a free citizen of 
the United States. Rip, in fact, was no politician ; the 
changes of states and empires made but little impression on 



48 



RIP VAN WINKLE . 



him ; but there was one species of despotism under which 
he had long groaned, and that was — petticoat government. 
Happily, that was at an end ; he had got his neck out of 
the yoke of matrimony, and could go in and out whenever 
he pleased, without dreading the tyranny of Dame Van Winkle. 
Whenever her name was mentioned, however, he shook his 
head, shrugged his shoulders, and cast up his eyes ; which 




might pass either for an expression of resignation to his fate, 
or joy at his deliverance. 

He used to tell his story to every stranger that arrived at 
Mr. Doolittle’s hotel. He was observed, at first, to vary on 
some points every time he told it, which was doubtless owing 
to his having so recently awaked. It at last settled down pre- 
cisely to the tale I have related, and not a man, woman, or 
child in the neighborhood, but knew it by heart. Some 




Filling the glen with babbling murmurs! 






RIP VAN WINKLE . 



49 



always pretended to doubt the reality of it, and insisted that 
Rip had been out of his head, and that this was one point on 
which he always remained flighty. The old Dutch inhabi- 
tants, however, almost universally gave it full credit. Even 
to this day, they never hear a thunder-storm of a summer after- 
noon about the Kaatskill, but they say Hendrick Hudson and 
his crew are at their game of nine-pins; and it is a common 
wish of all henpecked husbands in the neighborhood, when 
life hangs heavy on their hands, that they might have a quiet- 
ing draught out of Rip Van Winkles flagon. 

Note. — The foregoing tale, one would suspect, had been suggested to Mr. 
Knickerbocker by a little German superstition about the Emperor Frederick der 
Rothbart and the Kypphauser mountain ; the subjoined note, however, which he 
had appended to the tale, shows that it is an absolute fact, narrated with his 
usual fidelity. 

“ The story of Rip Van Winkle may seem incredible to many, but never- 
theless I give it my full belief, for I know the vicinity of our old Dutch settle- 
ments to have been very subject to marvellous events and appearances. Indeed, 
I have heard many stranger stories than this, in the villages along the Hudson ; 
all of which were too well authenticated to admit of a doubt. I have even talked 
with Rip Van Winkle myself, who, when last I saw him, was a very venerable old 
man, and so perfectly rational and consistent on every other point, that I think 
no conscientious person could refuse to take this into the bargain ; nay, I have 
seen a certificate on the subject taken before a country justice, and signed with a 
cross, in the justice’s own handwriting. The story, therefore, is beyond the pos- 
sibility of doubt.” 

























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